


Darker by the Hour

by ReverendRoach



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Apocalypse Prevented, Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Guilt, Hurt Number Five | The Boy, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Light Angst, Not Canon Compliant, Number Five | The Boy Being an Asshole, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Number Five | The Boy-centric, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Season/Series 01, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Siblings, Sibling Bonding, What is this? I do not know, no beta we die like ben
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26720749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReverendRoach/pseuds/ReverendRoach
Summary: Number Five has not settled down as well as he would have hoped in the aftermath of the apocalypse-that-was-not. It is odd to exist around actual people as more than a vicious outsider, isn't it?(Season 1 AU: Apocalypse averted. Character-driven narrative.)
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & The Hargreeves (Umbrella Academy)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 81





	Darker by the Hour

With an unceremonious thump, Number Five rested the crystal tumbler on the edge of the bar. He sat hunched forward on a stool, head slumping halfway onto the polished surface between his elbows, hands clasped loosely together against his forehead. With bleary blue stains twirling about his vision, he blinked wearily, lungs heaving with strained effort. The dull throb along the side of his ribcage was almost irksome enough for him to coddle it in squeamish discomfort, but the cool glass within his grasp was enough to sate his itching fingers for the moment; he reacquainted with his drink, eyes rolling a bit as he revelled in the burn that clung to his tongue. A suitable remedy.

Dusk had long since fallen over the Academy, rusty orange sky steadily being swallowed by a seeping navy blue over the horizon, stars drowned out by the gleam of city lights. From his place against the bar top, Five had yet to move much since he decided to retire for the evening. He had not yet found the energy to change from his blood encrusted, untidy uniform, nor had he found the time to turn on any lights. Perhaps the week had not quite gone according to plan thus far, with that mild instance of an unsuspecting physical assault and all, but that did not sully the day’s work. In fact, maybe that had even made it a little sweeter.

Tipping back the last few drops of amber bourbon from the glass, sharp agony split up and down Five’s side.

Perhaps _sweeter_ was not quite the right word.

That lingering pain was not the reigning reason for his insistence on consumption; however, that honour was well allocated to the scorching shame that had settled in his gut, a fine feeling to accompany the bodily ache. Five embraced the reminder with every movement. In fact, he’d nearly convinced himself that it felt right. Comfy. It wasn’t really a big deal, anyway. He’d been _far_ worse for wear before, hell, even within the past month he’d had crueller encounters. It’s just that, no matter how he phrased it in his head, this one was _reliably_ humiliating. A pair of novice thugs. He’d been roughed up like some squishy civilian. Like some weedy little fifteen-year-old doormat of a boy.

Was he going soft?

No. Never. Number Five, deadly seasoned assassin. One of the best space and time itself had ever seen. He’d made a point of that with his two attackers, sweeping ankles and smashing skulls into brick with a few well-timed strikes and flashes of blue. But that was preceded by a few moments where he just—hadn’t quite reacted. Just enough time for him to be wrestled down onto the concrete and shouldered and _kicked._ It had just been a moment, but that was all it took for raw embarrassment to bubble up his throat, running hot across his skin as his eyes turned wild and accusing. The burn in his face had subsided by now, but he was quite sure that he’d never been so red in his life as to when he stumbled back onto his feet with a hasty spatial jump, his jaw iron-tight and fingers juddering.

Had he turned to drastic measures in his anger? Was it possible that his deadly retaliation was a slight overreaction? Within the tick of a second, he reassured himself; this concern was nonsense, in it’s most righteous form. He snuffed the lights of two dangerous, violent criminals. People who prey on the weak and vulnerable. Not that Five was ever weak or vulnerable (the very thought is laughable, in all honesty), just that his looks were most certainly deceiving in that regard, much to his own dismay. Yes indeed, those two brutes thought it wise to assault a young schoolboy journeying along a road less travelled. How vile. Five didn’t exactly procure the chance to ask them of their intentions, but he had a decent concept of what they might hope to accomplish by jumping him in a back alley.

Hissing out an inflated sigh, he carded a hand through his tousled dark hair, eyes growing heavier with tire the more he allowed himself to lean into the bar. With a hand cradling one side of his face, his eyes merely fluttered for a moment before resigning to stay closed. His posture fully relaxed as he practically melted into the mahogany. Encompassed in a steady lull, shrouded safely under the dark air, perfectly warm and fuzzy.

Until it was all ripped from his grasp within a moment. He couldn’t have had more than a mere minute or two in his makeshift resting place when that distant _thud thud thud_ evolved into the racking of the heavy wood doors situated in at the entryway. Five shot up, his eyes widening with alarm, hands aimlessly scrambling for a moment. Blinking in the dark sitting room, his vicious grip on the edge of the wood slowly loosened as voices filled the neighbouring foyer. Ah, Yes. Siblings. How delightful.

His posture crumpled once more, lids drooping as he tried to will himself to steady his shaking breath and stand from his place at the bar. To no avail, he only became further resigned the more he sat there, the shadowed room tilting this way and that through his drunken stupor.

An even more unpleasant shock to the system, someone turned on a nearby lamp. Yellow and orange burned against dilated pupils once he swivelled his head in the direction of the light. Immediately regretting this shift in attention, Five turned back toward the bar and slumped forward to let his chin rest flat against the glossed surface, hands cupped to his eyes to shield them from the sudden assault. A displeased groan rumbled from his throat as he pressed a palm into his lids, rubbing harshly in a meagre effort at swabbing away the yellow dots obscuring his vision.

The lone pair of footsteps in the living room quickly became two, then three. One dull and heavy, one mild and steady, and one delicately clicking against the hardwoods. Diego. Klaus. Allison. Five kept his eyes shut as he huffed out an impatient sigh; his version of a friendly greeting.

“Hey. The hell’re you doing?” Diego asked gruffly from his place by the couch.

Rolling his eyes behind heavy lids, Five responded, his tone laced with tired exasperation.   
  
“I _was_ relaxing, but I guess that’s over now.” He pushed himself up from his slump, rolling his shoulders and tugging harshly at his lapel, a lousy attempt at collecting himself.

Diego scoffed, letting Klaus comment from his place by the doorway.

“I feel that, but I mean, in the dark?” He placed a hand on his hip and puffed out a long breath. “Your little anti-people initiative has been toeing it _awful_ close to vampirism lately, sport.”

Five turned his head over a shoulder, only to shoot Klaus a deadened glare and a middle finger. Upon refocusing on the bar, he braced his feet into the barstool and snatched the half-empty bottle of honeyed bourbon a foot or two to his left. Embarrassingly enough, he found that he had to stretch a considerable distance to reach it. Five ignored the ache along his side as he poured himself another generous glass, just the same as he ignored the click click click of approaching heels. Setting the bottle back down and capping it with just a bit too much enthusiasm, Five found himself caught off guard for the second time that day. With a glance to his right, Five found Klaus. He did a double take, looking back towards the couch to find Diego and Allison both staring him down, both with a curious gleam in their eyes. He turned to Klaus, and then caught sight of his burgundy stilettos.

A dazed ‘ah’ slipped past his lips as he straightened back up, giving his head a light shake. A few locks of hair fell just above his eyes as he took another hearty swig from his glass.

“Y’okay there?” Klaus’ tone was uncharacteristically pinched, almost like he’d been questioning a particularly bitey crocodile about his eating habits. His green eyes flicked between Five’s bleary stare and the dark, clotted red staining the collar of his shirt.

Number Five’s stern look was replaced by a sarcastic smirk as he levelled his gaze with Klaus.

“Just swell.”

He merely received an unsure grimace in response, which was seemingly enough for him to decide that yes, it was time for him to leave. Five was simply not in the mood to entertain his siblings—Despite the pleasant buzz that filled his skull, he was still bruised, frustrated, and oddly _ashamed_.

Quickly standing from his place at the bar on clumsy feet, Five swiped his glass and turned to leave, intentionally gazing off towards the staircase rather than acknowledging the _patronising_ stares of his brothers and sister. Before he could be on his merry way, a warm palm gently encompassed Number Five’s shoulder, a kind gesture. Queue hasty scribbling. Allison turned towards her flimsy notepad, brows knit as she began what was undoubtedly a manifesto of sorts, easily discernible through her fierce efforts to fill the page and laser focus.

It took a moment longer for the situation to set in. Five really was slow on the uptake today. How unfortunate.

He felt regret wriggle it’s way to the forefront of his mind, ardently wishing he’d returned to his quarters earlier or at least remained sober enough to make a swift escape. But alas, he knew better than to try now. Delores had always warned him about drunkenly using his powers, so whenever he was too stubborn to listen to her advice, she had simply issued him a stern “I told you so.” Often followed by a haughty giggle whenever he managed to throw himself into a pile of ashen debris or disappear in a flash of cobalt just to reappear six feet above where he once stood.

Swaying ever so slightly on the spot, Five willed himself to refrain from another such incident; he had quite enough foolishness for one day. Enough of his own foolishness and quite enough of everyone else’s. Including his _pesky_ , loving siblings. Speaking of, had someone said something? Surely they had. They were all staring at him with soft, concerned eyes. All of them. Disgusting.

“What?”

Allison raised her notepad, fervently tapping at the surface with the capped end of a marker.

‘ _What happened to you? Are you hurt? Blood?’_

‘Blood’ was underlined for emphasis, and Five nearly snorted at this. Actually, judging by the horror and seeping frustration settling into the faces around him, he had done just that. Not intentionally of course, no, no. He was not one to antagonise, not like this at least.

Letting his shoulders drop with clear exasperation, he answered, counting off the questions with his fingers as he did so.

“Went for a walk. In perfect condition. Not mine, doesn’t matter.” He issued a squinty, drunken smile as he finished for good measure.

Despite his efforts, this did not seem to yield the desired results. God, all he wanted was to go rest for the evening. Can’t an old man rest his tired bones without being hounded like some walking basket case? Apparently not, because Diego began to speak again. Turns out Klaus had too, but Five was admittedly already quite proficient at drowning out his babble, so he hadn’t even thought to acknowledge it. Giving his eyes another roll for emphasis, Five took a mouthful of his drink.

“Jesus, Five, when are you gonna knock this shit off? If you keep running around like a maniac, I swear to God—” Diego cut himself off, taking a deep breath and running a hand down the side of his face, brows furrowing further at the unphased look he caught in return. “Look like you’re straight outta a crime scene, man, c’mon. What the hell happened?”

Five frowned, foggy eyes flitting about his siblings as he huffed a sharp breath through his nose. Even though the gesture seemed to send a comforting warmth through his frame (and greatly assisted in keeping him steady), Five pulled away from the hand Klaus had set on his shoulder, decidedly all too eager to swat his siblings away like flies buzzing about his head.

“Mind your own damn business.”

Five made to stalk off towards the staircase, though, with his focus entirely sunk into the mere thought of getting out of there _as soon as possible_ , he was caught off guard for the third time that day. A deep, red-hot pain flared in his side as he twisted to turn away.

Instinctively, his arm shot up to tuck around his ribcage, hissing at the feeling, stopping in his tracks as he stumbled slightly. Diego had moved forward a step or two and Allison stood from her place on the couch, both looking positively alarmed now. Spindly fingers wrapped around Number Five’s forearm to keep him stable once more, an anxious “take it easy there, lil’ guy” brushing past Klaus’ lips.

Five’s frown only worsened at this, nose scrunching and teeth clenching.

“Little!” His exclamation was nothing if not utterly scandalized. “I am not—Little!” He tore his arm away from Klaus’ grasp and further curled into himself, putting another two feet or so between himself and the gangly séance.

“Woah. H-hey now—” Diego cut in, uneasiness flashing across his features.

“Didn’t mean anything by it.” Klaus raised his hands, tattooed palms out in surrender, shaking his head frantically as he began to ramble. “Not little, got it. Old man. Very old. Wise.” The insistence in his voice sounded genuine and left a distinctly bitter taste on the back of Five’s tongue.

The Boy merely sneered, refusing to acknowledge the guilt currently tugging at his stubborn resolve. He was far too tired to deal with this. His knuckles white and straining against the glass in his hand, he unhappily downed what remained, the buzz behind his eyes still trying and failing to put him at ease. He refused to meet the eyes of anyone in the room as he muttered to himself, making do with stumbling footsteps as he retreated to his room.

“Whatever. Idiots. You’re all—Idiots.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've never tried to write a character like Five before, but WOW, hey, he is just a darling isn't he? Good fun, really. This wont be particularly long but I have some ideas in mind so...there shall be more. You know what? If anyone has any niche interactions that they wanna see, feel free to suggest because I mean. I am useless but i'm willing to kinda just screw about and pray for the best if you are. :o)
> 
> Also please berate me if this sucks because I have no gauge of success without a fair taste of soul-crushing insult


End file.
